What’s in an Identity?

Let me start out this blog post by saying that I am in no way claiming to be the slightest bit cool or hip. I am quite aware of the fact that I’m a pretty big dork and on a good day I can barely get myself dressed. I’m okay with that. But I think most of us can agree that in order to survive and be happy with who we are as people, everyone has to have some illusion that they think themselves interesting or cool. We all shape our identities in different ways, whether it’s comprised by the way we dress, who our friends are, what we do for a living, where we live, hobbies, etc, or all of the above. Or, maybe it’s a sense of what we want and strive to be. Whatever, you get my drift.

At 33 (almost 34!) years old I feel like I’ve gained a pretty good sense of my own identity. Or, at least I thought I did. But recently since I’ve given up most every possession I owned, moved away from all my friends and family, quit my job, etc., I find myself sort of in a new identity crisis. I mean, what makes me me? And, this hit me in the oddest of ways. I find myself watching burned copies of TV shows and I do what many people probably do, I pick out the things I see that I like and could see myself doing, wearing, buying, etc. Even if in reality I’ll never own any of the things I see, I always enjoy looking at stuff and picking out what I like. “Oh, I like that shirt,” I think. Or “that’s a cute haircut.” So I’m doing this the other night while watching a show and then I remember that I’m living in Tanzania and I don’t have access to pretty much any of those things. I can’t just go to Target and pick up a new outfit or go online and find a great sale to update my wardrobe. And not only that, even if I had access to these things I like, I might not even be able to wear that shirt or have that certain style because it’s too low-cut for this culture or it would be seen as totally inappropriate here. And it all just kind of makes me sad, like I can’t be who I want to be. But then I think, well that’s really stupid and superficial. The way I dress or my style (more accurately, my lack of style) doesn’t make me me. So, what gives?

I have given up so many little and big things to do this one gigantic thing that is living and working in Tanzania. And yes, I’m sure my “Tanzania experience” will certainly add to my sense of self and identity. But because of all the things I’ve given up to be here, to have this one big identity marker, I find myself rattling around in the emptiness. I feel a little anchor-less.

I’m sure that in time, as I get used to my new life, I’ll solidify my “Tanzanian identity” and I’ll move right along as if nothing ever changed. But for now I’m trying to embrace the emptiness, as difficult as that is, and listen to its messages for me.